Mourn

Twitching wings, shifting eyes, a tail that could not rest; Mourn didn’t need these signs to tell him what he already knew. Guilty. There was no doubt in his mind. The mirror looked up at him from the defendant seat, eyes filled with burning malice.

Mourn could hear the mirror’s words from earlier echoing in his mind, snarled at him in the holding cell before the trial: You coward. Traitor.

Theorn had been charged with war crimes. He had done things that made Mourn sick to read aloud. This was the end- he had been charged, witnesses had come forward, and Mourn had given his own testimony, something that took him years to work up the courage to do. To testify against his fellow soldier. Against his old friend. All he had to do now was read the conviction.

- - - -

Before he’d been elected as judge, Mourn was a soldier. A young, spry thing, no more than a few hundred years old- much to young for war. Theorn was there when he’d enlisted and the two became friends, and made quite the opposite pair. Mourn was a spiral, shy and seemingly always in knots. He signed up to fight, feeling a deep loyalty to protect his fellow dragons from harm. Theorn Hskar was a young mirror dragon, sneaky, double-edged and drunk with the idea of power, the idea of battle and death.

Often Theorn would knock Mourn on the shoulder, and ask: “You sure you’re ready for this? You gotta know you ain’t cut out for a real fight.”

Mourn straightened up, unwilling to be put down so easily this time around. “Of course I am. I can take it.”

Theorn rolled his eyes. A wisp of smoke puffed from his snout. “Sure you are. I know you, Mourn- you’re too soft.” His eyes hardened, all playfulness aside. “When the time comes to take a kill, I’ll be the one to really do it.”

- - - - - -

A few weeks later comes their first assignment and everything goes as well as war can. Mourn fights impressively, with valiance and honor. His kills are quick and clean. Merciful. Theorn disappeared, and was not seen until the end of the battle. He comes walking back as though nothing had happened. Mourn thinks he catches a glimmer of gold inside the mirror’s shirt collar that wasn’t there before- but he shakes the thought away.

Months pass. Sometimes Theorn fights by his side, other times he is mysteriously nowhere to be found in the throes of battle. Mourn is well-liked among the generals and higher-ups. He is decorated with occasional praise and passing comments that build up his esteem. Any other young dragon would have let this go straight to his head, but Mourn retained his humility.

The day everything changed, the sun was shining brightly across the sand. The shadows formed by their approaching army, slinked low across the ground, were slick and clean-lined. Mourn was among them, slinking back and forth low across the dry earth. His speckled red scales were flaked with dust.

Their general- a stern wildclaw from the Eastern Plains- held up a claw. Then, with a shout that rallied each dragon to their feet and wings, they charged forward. The opposing band of desert dragons rose from their low hiding places as well, red and brown against beige and white.

But Mourn’s eyes were not on the approaching force, but on Theorn. He made as if to charge, and at the last moment curved left around the fight. Theorn looked over his shoulder in a glance that reeked of guilt. In that moment Mourn decided to follow him.

Theorn headed to the buildings of mud and stone where the desert dragons dwelled. Mourn watched him slip inside a doorway. Barely audible over the roar of battle, another scream came from inside the house. Seconds later the door burst open. Theorn, laden with golden chains, coins spilling from his pockets, dragging a desert mirror out by the throat. She screams again, caught in his grasp and struggling for breath, and against all instinct Mourn propels himself forward from the shadows and into view.

Theorn’s head snapped towards him and he dropped the other dragon. She slithered backwards against the alley wall, gasping for air. Theorn stops her by sinking his back claws into her tail. The dragon whimpers, struggling weaker.

“What are you doing?” Mourn felt a fear he had not known before. He didn’t recognize Theorn. Not like this. His eyes are unnerving. Cold.

“What does it look like? I’m fighting for our side.”

Is this where he’s been sneaking off to? To slaughter civilians? Mourn felt sick.

Mourn’s voice wavered against his will. “Not like this. You can’t kill... you can’t kill her. She’s innocent. Wh-”

Theorn cut him off, his grin a terrible sight. “She’s not innocent. She’s one of the enemy. Don’t you see? This is the only way to keep winning. You have to attack on all fronts, Mourn.”

At this, Theorn pounced onto the mirror, pinning her throat to the ground.
“Stop!” Mourn cried out. He willed his legs to move but they were rooted to the sand.

In horror he watched Theorn push down on the mirrors’ neck. Time seemed to slow and everything happened at the same time. A dull crunch. The sand beneath Theorn’s feet swelling with crimson. Theorn’s eyes, staring straight into his, unafraid of what Mourn would do. Knowing he would never be able to speak of this to anyone. Secure in his murder. In one motion Theorn withdrew his claws and turned away, ducking behind the house and out of sight.

Mourn had seen death before. He knew the face of it. But this was different. He could not shake her face from his mind.

Walking back to the general he saw her pleading eyes.

Asking to be discharged he heard her panicked scream.

Returning home he felt her fear.

The memory of that day never left him.

Now, in the courtroom, Mourn stands before the attendants. He looks to the murderer one final time. In Theorn’s eyes: no regret for what he had done. Only spite for being caught. That was Theorn’s big mistake- assuming that Mourn was too cowardly to take action and tell the truth. And while it took years of gathering evidence, sending spies, and finding witnesses, Mourn had done it. He could condemn Theorn rightly, with no room for him to sneak away from the proof.

In a clear voice, Mourn spoke the words he had long been waiting for: “We find Theorn Hskar guilty of war crimes, of which the punishment is death.” Mourn drew out a long breath. “This court is now dismissed.”
Theorn is led out, thrashing against the restraints of the guards. He is yelling, but Mourn pays no heed. He will not listen.

As the doors close, Mourn turns and leaves. Finally, it was all over. A sense of peace, that which he had not known since his youth, fills him.

This, Mourn knew, is why I became a judge. To protect the innocent and condemn the wicked. No matter the cost.


Written by macaroni33#433972